A Second Meeting
by CorprallFrond
Summary: Sherlock was working in the lab one day when in walked Stamford with old friend. Imagine Sherlock's surprise when this friend turns out to be John Watson his high school friend and crush. Mild slash. The script of A Study in Pink just slightly twisted.
1. We meet Again

**Summary: Sherlock is working in the lab one day when Mike Stamford comes in with an old friend. Sherlock is shocked to see this friend is John Watson his old high school best friend and crush.**

**Note: In the flashbacks all the 'th are just S's**

**Disclamer: I own nothing...sadly**

* * *

Sherlock glanced up at the man walking in with that Stamford idiot. He was short with blonde hair. He had a dark tan and a psychosomatic limp. Obviously just back from Afghanistan or Iraq, doctor from his comment. Sherlock worked through his deductions in moments, but the thing that perplexed Sherlock was the look on the doctor's face when Sherlock looked up.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." He glanced up.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike said not wanting Sherlock to get hold of his phone. Who knew what he could find out.

"I prefer to text." Sherlock said.

"Sorry, it's in my coat." No it wasn't. He just didn't want to let Sherlock use it.

" Er, here... Use mine." The man said. Sherlock was pleasantly surprised. Why would he let Sherlock borrow his phone when Stamford wouldn't. He didn't even know him, but that might be the point.

Sherlock walked over to take the phone. When he reached for it the other man didn't let go. Sherlock looked up and meet the smaller mans eyes. He was smiling broadly. Sherlock frowned.

"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson." Stamford said. Sherlock's jaw went slack, and his eyes widened. John just smirked at him.

"My first..." John whispered looking at Sherlock.  
_

Sixteen year old Sherlock flinched as another rock flew through the air, and hit him in the back of the head. He was going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow. Sherlock wondered if Moran would ever run out of rocks. Sherlock turned to see Sebastian Moran load another rock into his slingshot. Sherlock sighed this had been going on since school stared a month ago. It wasn't his fault that boy Sebastian liked, Spencer, had immediately taken an interest in him. Moran was a sadistic jealous arse.

Sherlock braced himself for another rock, but it never came. He turned to see a short blonde boy standing there holding the rock that was meant for him. Sherlock knew him. It was John Watson the school play boy, the Rugby captain, Mr. Popular, and hottest guy in junior year. John scowled tossing the stone to the ground, and sending Moran an icy glare.

"Are you alright? " Sherlock nodded rapidly shocked. John smiled, and to Sherlock's dismay sat down at the lunch table next to him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock snapped out of shock. John smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, I should have asked to sit first." John said getting up. Sherlock said snatching the hem of John's tee-shirt.

"Umm... No, please th'it." Sherlock mentally winced at his lisp. He always had it, but his braces just made it worse. "Why?" Sherlock quickly let go of his shirt realising that it seemed a bit desperate. None had ever stood up for Sherlock. Sherlock needed to know what made this boy stand up for him . None had all through his freshman year, and the now the start of his sophomore year... this.

"It was right." John shrugged. Sherlock nodded. That answer wasn't exactly what Sherlock was looking for, but it was good for now.

"You know what you're doing don't you?" Sherlock asked carefully avoiding S words whenever he could. Everyone in the lunch room seemed to have stopped to watch. By talking to Sherlock, John had crossed some imaginary line. One that none had crossed before. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what would happen. If it were anyone else they would be doomed, but everyone liked John.

"Yes, I'm sitting down, and having lunch. Possibly making a new friend." John said smiling knowingly. John knew what he was doing.

"F-friend? " Sherlock asked shocked. John frowned.

"What is it? " He asked swallowing a bite of rubbery school pizza.

"I've never had one before." Sherlock said shrugging, and running his finger through his hair,that his mummy had made him keep cut short, trying to down play the light blush on his checks. He was embarrassed that he never had what seemed so common to other kid.

"You do now." John smiled at Sherlock who felt himself doing the same.  
_

"Thi'th way John." Sherlock said grabbing his hand, and pulling him down another hall. It was the last day of school, and they were skipping class. It had taken a minute for Sherlock to convince John, but he agreed eventually. Next year Sherlock would be a junior, and John a senior. They ducked into the pool room. The pool was dark lit only by the light coming from the locker rooms.

"Let's swim." John said suddenly. Sherlock raise his eyebrows.

"We don't have any th'wim th'orts." John smiled and tugged Sherlock into the locker room he walked over to a locker, and pulled out two pairs off shorts. Sherlock swallowed. The last the he wanted was to be wearing only a pair of swimming short in front of John. Sherlock had been crushing on John for a while, and it had only gotten worse. John had gone out with half the girls in school. He was obviously not gay.

"You can borrow my extra pair." John said walking off to change.

Sherlock walked out in his black swim shorts. (He wasn't as thin then as is now. After all he had no cases to work on, so no need to stop eating.) John was leaning by the wall in his blue shorts and grey shirt.

"Your not wearing your th'irt in the pool are you?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I got cold waiting on you." John said pulling his shirt over his heads. Sherlock watched as it got stuck on the silver chain he wore under his shirt.

"Here." Sherlock said helping him pull his shirt off. John came up blushing lightly, and Sherlock knew was doing the same. John cleared his throat.

"I'm glad none saw that." John said Sherlock looked up at him.

"Hmm?"

"You ripping my clothes of in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk." They both laughed.

"They do little el'the." Sherlock commented. It was true everyone thought there was something between them, but that didn't stop all the girls from falling over themselves to get to John. Sherlock felt the water with his foot, warm.

"What are you doing? " Sherlock looked at John.

"Getting in the water of cour'th." Sherlock said.

"Not like that. Your suppose to jump." John smiled.

Why on earth would I jump?" Sherlock asked the idea sounded so ridiculous. He turn back, that was his mistake. John came up behind him, and lifted him up and threw him in the water. Sherlock felt the water surround him.

Sherlock came up sputtering and choking on water. He blinked for a minute. He saw John at the edge of the water laughing. Sherlock smiled, he couldn't help it. God John was handsome, and fit, really fit.

"What wa'th that for? " Sherlock grumbled. John smiled at him. He suddenly jumped into the water right next to Sherlock.

John came up smile his short blonde hair a mess. He locked eyes with Sherlock. John had the most beautiful hazel eyes. John's face was only an inch from Sherlock's. His eyes slid down down John's lips. Sherlock quickly looked back to his eyes afraid John had noticed. He had. Sherlock saw John's own eyes drift to his lips, and he felt his heart race. John looked back to his eyes.

He slowly moved forward giving Sherlock the change to back out. Sherlock did no such thing, no matter how scared he was. John closed his eyes and Sherlock followed suit. Sherlock's brain shut off as their lips touched. John pulled back suddenly. Sherlock frowned afraid it was him.

"I'm th'orry...I-" Sherlock started but, John shook his head. He bobbed in the water.

"Can't touch." He managed. Sherlock laughed. God was he relieved. John shook he head smiling. "Tall git." John and he swam to the shallows. Suddenly John turned.

"Now where were we? " John asked catching Sherlock unaware.

John didn't hesitate to place his lip to Sherlock's. He slid his arms around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock was unsure what to do with his arm. He slowly placed them around John's strong broad shoulders. John's lips pressed and kneaded his. Sherlock clumsily tried to mimic his moments.

Sherlock gasped as John's hand slid down a squeezed his arse. John suddenly slipped his tongue into his mouth. Sherlock felt his mind explode, and his knees go weak. John seemed to notice slid his hand down wrapping his legs around John's waists. Sherlock felt John's tongue explore his mouth like he was trying to memorize everything. Sherlock tried to do the same, but he felt painfully clumsy.

John pulled back to for breath. His face flushed and his hair was messy. He looked wonderful. He smiled broadly and ran his fingers through Sherlock's short hair. His mummy had made him cut his curls, because it was easier to manage.

"I've wanted to do that for so long." Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Y-you have? " John nodded. Sherlock looked at John smiling. "My first." Sherlock breathed then flushed deeply he didn't mean to say that out loud.

"What? " John asked. Sherlock looked down.

"My first kiss." Sherlock muttered. John's eyes widened.

"I was your first kiss?" John asked. Sherlock nodded sheepishly. He was sixteen! It was embarrassing. "My first." John whispered. Sherlock's head shot up. He didn't mean kiss. Sherlock had seem him kiss several girls.

"What? " Sherlock asked.

"Love..." John said simply. Sherlock's heart almost stopped. John's first love. He liked the title. Sherlock notice John's eyes flash as he remembered something. "What was it I was saying earlier about a darkened swimming pool?" He asked suddenly slipped his hand down the back of Sherlock's shorts to grab his bare arse. Sherlock let out a surprised yelp turning deep red. John quickly moved his hand. Sherlock shook his head.

"I-I can't John. I-I'm th'o th'orry but I'm not -" Sherlock panicked John cut him off.

"No, I'm sorry. I won't push you into anything you're not ready for." John soothed. Sherlock nodded thankful. John placed a chaste kiss on his lips. He ran a hand over Sherlock face.

"We better go. Schools almost out." Sherlock whispered reluctant to ruin the moment. John nodded.

Sherlock and John climbed out of the pool. They didn't speak as they grabbed their stuff and changed. Sherlock waited a minute for John to finish changing. They walked together to the pool doors. Sherlock paused.

"John? What does thi'th mean now?" Sherlock asked. John smiled.

"We'll see next year." He said before a last kiss on Sherlock's lips. He pulled back then walked out the door. Sherlock smiled and leaned against the door for a minute before walking outside.  
_

"John!? " Sherlock pulled him into a hug which John quickly returned. "Where the hell have you been? The war for God sake." John smiled.

"How-" John grinned broadly shaking his head. Molly walked in stopping in the door at the scene before her. Mike just watched with his jaw dropped. Sherlock turned to her.

"Ah! Coffee, thank you." Molly hesitantly walked over to the pair handing Sherlock the cup of coffee. He cocked his head frowning at her. "What happened to the lipstick?" He asked. Her eyes snapped from John who was still smiling back to Sherlock himself.

"It wasn't working for me." She shrugged.

"Really? i thought it was a big improvement. Your mouths too small now." Sherlock said turning to walk back to his coat.

"Sherlock!" john warned. Sherlock turned to him and held up a hand.

"What?" John just rolled his eyes. Molly looked at them overwhelmed.

"Ok." She smiled weakly before hurrying from the room.

"Wait you to know each other? " Mike asked finally recovering from his shock. John nodded.

"Sherlock was my best friend in high school." Mike looked stunned by the thought of Sherlock with a friend let alone sweet nice John as a friend.

"What happened to you? You disappeared after your junior year. I never heard from you." Sherlock asked snatching up his coat. He had always wondered. He worried that it had been him. He never saw John again after... their kiss.

"I lost your phone number. I meant to get it when we went back to school, but I suddenly had to change schools because of my Dad's job."

"I didn't know what had happened." Sherlock shook his head grinning. Both were smiling broadly like fools. "So you're looking for a flatmate? "

"No, I just found him." John grinned. Sherlock smiled. He slipped his coat on flipping the collar up.

"Well I'm sorry to dash, think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Sherlock said walking to the door.

"Wait you don't want to get caught up? See what I've been doing. You didn't even give me the address." John asked bewildered. Sherlock stepped back from the door racking his eyes over John.

"I know you became an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from... Iraq?" John shook his head smiling."Afghanistan, then. Your sister's worried about you but you won't go to her for help because you don't approve of her, possibly because she's still an alcoholic. And I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's enough catching up for now, don't you think? The address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon John." Sherlock said then he winked before walking out the door leaving an exasperated John behind.

He hurried off trying to process all of this. John his first kiss, first (and only for that matter) crush was going to be his flatmate. And he had winked at him. Oh God! He wouldn't be

getting any sleep tonight. Not that he usually did anyway.


	2. Want to See Some More?

Sherlock shifted nervously in the back of the cab. He could see John stand on the sidewalk, and quickly jumped out of the cab throwing the man his money.

"Hello."

"Ah- Sherlock. Well this is a prime spot. Must be expensive. What do you do now?"

"Mrs. Hudson the landlady- she's given me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years earlier her husband got himself sentenced to dead in Florida. I was able to help out." Sherlock replied cryptically. John looked at him.

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?" John asked. Sherlock looked back at him smirking as he rang the doorbell.

"Oh, no, I ensured it." John didn't have the chance to respond before Mrs. Hudson opened the door in her deep purple dress and smile on her face.

"Sherlock!" She reached out hugging him, one of the few who dared and even fewer he allowed. He pulled back motioning to John.

"Mrs. Hudson, Dr. John Watson. He's an old high school friend of mine." She looked over John taking him in. She smiled warmly at him.

"Hello, come in." She disappeared into the flat.

"Thank you." John said smiling.

"Shall we...?" Sherlock motioned to the door for John to do first. He followed John up the stairs wondering where this reunion would go. Sherlock moved into the flat, and watched John look the place over.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John smiled slightly look around. Sherlock nodded in agreement hiding his joy of having John as a flatmate.

"Yes, yes, I think so, my thoughts precisely. So I went straight ahead and moved in." Sherlock spoke at the same time as John.

"Soon as we get this rubbish cleaned up." John looked at him. "So this is all..." Sherlock inwardly cursed himself. He knew he should have cleaned up before John came. He moved in forward picking some mail off the floor.

"Well ,obviously I can straighten things up a bit." He said stabbing a jack-knife through the letters on the mantel. John's eye caught the skull on the on top the book pile.

"That's a skull." Sherlock looked back at it.

"Friend of mine. When I say friend..." He shrugged. John shook his head, but smiled. Sherlock wondered for a minute if he had ever missed his antics.

"What do you think, then, Dr. Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing to bedrooms." She said suggestively. Sherlock wanted to curse the nosey older woman.

"Of course we'll be needing two bedrooms." John said pointedly. Sherlock sighed relived he wasn't afended.

"Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones." Curse this persistent woman! Sherlock was thankful when she looked around the corner at his makeshift lab on the kitchen table. "Sherlock! The mess you've made." John watched her walk off. He turned to Sherlock raising an eyebrow. Sherlock just shook his head.

"She means well." He chuckled.

"What about these suicides, then, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen. Sherlock wandered over to the window, and looked down at a police cruiser pull up to the street. "Thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

"Four. There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time." Sherlock said not looking from the window.

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson asked from the kitchen. Just as Lestrade ran up the steps. He spared a quick glance at John before turning to him. Sherlock looked at him.

"Where?" Sherlock asked cutting him off before he could speak.

"Brixton, Laurston Gardens." Sherlock turned from him.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me otherwise somethings different." Sherlock looked over his shoulder. He was playing thing up a bit. He did want to impress John.

"You know how they never leave notes?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah." Sherlock prompted.

"This one did. Will you come?" He asked putting his hands on his hips.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked. He was already coming up with a plot.

"Anderson." Lestrade answered. Sherlock wrinkled his nose. Donovan was bad enough, but them both together. John was sure to ran from him and never look back.

"Anderson doesn't work well with me."

"Well he won't be your assistant." Lestrade reasoned, and Sherlock saw his chance.

"I need an assistant." Sherlock countered.

"Will you come?" Lestrade ask cutting to the point.

"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind you." Sherlock turned waving him off.

"Thank you." Lestrade nodded heading out the door. Sherlock waited till he hear the door shut behind him. He grinned jumping in the air. Sherlock threw his hands in the air.

"Brilliant! Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas. Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." He called to the woman.

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson insisted for what wasn't the first time.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock called to his old friend as he when for his coat. Sherlock stood in the hall listening to Mrs. Hudson and John's conversation.

"Look at him, dashing about... My husband was just the same. But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell. I'll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg." He didn't really like the idea of being compared to her husband.

"Damn my leg!" John shouted, and Sherlock could easily hear him in the hall. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing... " Ah, it was getting to him then. Sherlock had thought so. he knew John and the feeling of uselessness that was pulling at him.

"I understand, dear, I've got a hip." Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically.

"Cup of tea'd be lovely. Thank you." John said instantly calming down.

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper." The woman reminded.

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got them."

"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs. Hudson moved out the door.

"You're a doctor. Actually, you're an Army doctor." Sherlock said rounding the corner. He slipped on his gloves.

"Yes." John said cautiously.

"Any good?" Sherlock asked, not that he expected any less from John.

"Very good." John replied after slight hesitation.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then. Violent deaths."

"Well, yes." John said. Sherlock could see he wasn't sure where this was going.

"Bit of trouble too, I bet?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime, far too much." John said almost trying to convince himself. Because it was what was expected of him. He wasn't suppose to miss war, but he did. He only answered in the way society expected him, that war was a terrible horrible thing. For John the war was the rush that rugby, and even Sherlock at the time hadn't been able to give him. John would never say that he missed it unless it was out right asked of him.

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock smirked stepping close.

"Oh, God, yes." John nodded, and Sherlock turned hurrying down the stairs John at his heels. He couldn't help, but think it was like old times. Except they weren't trying to blow up the science lab this time. "Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out." John called to Mrs. Hudson.

"Both of you?" She asked, and Sherlock wondered if this would only feed her curiosity. Sherlock turned doubling back to the old woman.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? Not point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock said. He grabbed her by the shoulders caught up in he's excitement at both the murders and John's return to his side. He leaned down pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She scolded him, but there was a smile on her face.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on! Taxi!" Sherlock cried running out the door.


	3. Brixton, Lauriston Gardens

**please review.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

John sat next to him in the cab. He kept looking over at Sherlock then looking away. Sherlock sighed and turned to his friend.

"OK, you've got questions..." Sherlock stated.

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?"

"What do you do?" John asked.

"What do you think?" Sherlock quizzed.

"I'd say... private detective."

"But...?" Sherlock prompted.

"But the police don't go to private detectives." Sherlock smiled. John had always been smart.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Sherlock said proudly.

"What does that mean?" John frowned.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me. What about you? The war John?"

"Okay, how on earth did you know that?" John shook his head.

"Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military." Sherlock shrugged. "Army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been

abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand. Like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq."

"You said I had a therapist." John frowned.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your sister. I know her, and you. She naturally worried about you, but your looking for a flatmate. So she must still be drinking. Or was it something else?" John shook his head.

"That was extraordinary. God! I didn't relies how much I missed your deductions." Sherlock looked at John.

"You think so?" He asked. John nodded.

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary."

"It'll be odd getting complements again. It's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say, now?" John asked. Sherlock smirked.

"Piss off." They both laughed.

They were silent the rest of the ride just enjoying the others company. Sherlock still couldn't believe his luck at finding his old friend. He felt better knowing that John hadn't wanted to leave him. That his father had made him change schools. The cab pulled over and Sherlock quickly hopped out paying for the cab.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"I went to college to be a doctor, and joined the army. Harry still drinks, and she's getting a divorce." Sherlock nodded.

"From a Clarence, correct?" John shook his head.

"No, Clara." Sherlock frowned.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked him as they made they're way to the crime scene tape.

"Wife!" Sherlock shook his head.

"No - seriously, what am I doing here?" John asked.

"There's always something." Sherlock ignored him.

"Hello, freak!" Sally shouted at his as they got close. He felt his heart warm as John tensed beside him ever his protector.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." He pressed. He didn't have time for her.

"Why?" Oh, not this.

"I was invited."

"Why?" She repeated.

"I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" She sneered. He caught the smell of men's deodorant.

"Always Sally. I even know you didn't make it home last night.

"I don't... Who's this?" She quickly changed the subject pointing at John.

"Colleague of mine, Dr Watson. Dr Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan." He introduced.

"A colleague? How do YOU get a colleague? Did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited..." John said obviously uncomfortable.

"No." Sherlock held up the tape for him. Sally rolled her eyes. They both followed her back into the house.

"Freak's here. Bringing him in." Sally called into her radio. Anderson came stampeding out of the house. His ugly face puckered, and his hair slicked back.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again."

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" He huffed.

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock asked with fake interest.

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." He defended.

"Your deodorant told me that." Sherlock said.

"My deodorant?" Anderson repeated confused.

"It's for men." Sherlock raised his eyebrows theatrically. John groan beside him. He knew what was about to happen.

"Well, of course it's for men - I'm wearing it." He said angrily.

"So's Sergeant Donovan. Ooh... I think it just vaporised. May I go in?"

"Whatever you're trying to imply...

"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the

state of her knees." Sherlock quickly walked inside. John followed in behind him.

"It'd be high school again if he punched you." John sighed. Sherlock chuckled.

"You'd hit him back." John nodded at him.

"Just like old times." They both laughed. Lestrade looked at him oddly.

"You'll need to wear one of these." Sherlock handed John a suit.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked.

"He's with me." Sherlock stated

"But who is he?" The detective inspector persisted.

"I said he's with me." Sherlock repeated.

"Aren't you going to put one on?" John asked, but Sherlock ignored him.

"So where are we?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"Upstairs." He answered.

"I can give you two minutes." Lestrade told him.

"May need longer." Sherlock replied simply. Lestrade just rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue.

"Here names Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards we're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. So kids found her." Lestrade rattled

off as they walked up the stair case.

Sherlock slowed his usual pace to match John's. Lestrade seemed to notice, and shoot him an odd look. Sherlock opened the door to see the woman sprawled in the middle of the room. She was dressed in a horrid shade of pink. John and Lestrade stood over by the wall allowing his to get to work. He walked over inspecting the body. He turned to Lestrade by the door.

"Shut up." He ordered.

"I didn't say anything." He held up his hands.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Lestrade sighed, but didn't respond.

"Got anything?" He asked.

"Not much." Sherlock shrugged running a search on his phone. The door swung open to reveal Anderson's smug face.

"She's German. Rache. It's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell use something..." Anderson was cut off as Sherlock slammed the door in his face.

"Yes, thank you for your input."

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked as lost as ever.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town though. Indened to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So, far so obvious." Sherlock explained simply.

"Sorry- obvious?" John shook his head incredulous.

"What about the message though?" Ah, Lestrade. The most competent Inspector in the whole Yard. A sad truth.

"Dr. Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock directed at John keeping it professional. He didn't mind the rumor from the Yarders, but it wasn't fair to John.

"Of the message?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Of the body. You're a medical man." Sherlock explained.

"We have a whole team right outside." Lestrade protested.

"They won't work with me." Sherlock countered.

"I'm breaking ever rule letting YOU in here.." Lestrade told him.

"Yes...because you need me." Sherlock played his trump card. The older man looked like he wanted to respond, but just sighed.

"Yes, I do. God help us." He shook his head moving back to the wall.

"Dr. Watson!" Sherlock called John's attention. John looked over at Lestrade.

"Hmm.."

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." He turned and shouted at Anderson. "Anderson keep everyone out for a couple of minutes." John limped over to him. He took a

minute to adjust his bad leg so they were both leaning over the woman's body. He looked at Sherlock.

"Do you think this is such a good idea?" John asked him. Sherlock resisted the urge to groan. He knew this would come up.

"That is not a problem anymore."

"Sherlock, this is a police investigation! This man is putting himself on the line for you." John said ever the one for stating the obvious, and his silly morals. Lestrade

seemed to be listening but in.

"Wait, what isn't a problem anymore?" He asked. Sherlock scowled at the man.

"None of your business."

"It's my business if it puts my job on the line." He looked pointedly at John who seemed regret speaking up.

"Well, Sherlock's not famous for being right in his deductions." John said.

"I've gotten better. I was sixteen! Of course I made a few mistakes." Sherlock quickly defended himself.

"Sherlock you almost got our teacher fired!" Sherlock crossed his arm to protect himself from John's glare.

"It's was a honest mistake. How was I to know his wife and sister wore the same perfume?"

"Wait, I'm lost." Lestrade shook his head.

"Nothing new there." Sherlock muttered, but was ignored.

"I was friends with Sherlock in sixth form. He almost got our Math teacher fired, because he was sure he was sleeping with his sister. The teacher failed him for

that." John shook his head. Lestrade looked a bit dumbfounded at this new information.

"The point is I'm not wrong now. Can you just look at the body, John?" Sherlock said. John looked down at the body looking it over for a minute.

"Yeah...Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure. Possibly drugs" John looked up at him.

"You know what it was. You read the papers." Sherlock nodded.

"Well she's one of the suicides. The fourth..?"

Lestrade sighed in the corner checking his watch. "Sherlock-two minutes, I said, I need anything you got."

"Victim in late 30's. Professional person going by her clothes- I'm going with the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today

intending to stay in London one night from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock explained walking around the body.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade cocked his head.

"Yes, she's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She had a string of lovers, but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh, for God sakes. If you're making this up..." Lestrade shook his head.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. The inside is shinier than the outside. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands so who DOES she remove her rings for? Not ONE lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single for that long so more likely a string of them."

"Brilliant." John said, and Sherlock looked up at him. It was so like high school. He looked at Sherlock sheepishly."Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"It's not obvious to me." John looked at him to explain. Sherlock cocked his head at the two.

"Dear God, what's it like in your funny little brains, it must be so boring. Her coat- it's slightly damp, she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours- no rain anywhere

in London in that time. Under her collar is damp too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her pocket, but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind- to strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she intended to stay overnight, but she can't have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So- where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within that radius of that travel time? Cardiff."

"Fantastic." John breathed. Sherlock leaned over towards him slightly.

"Do you know you still do that out loud?"

"Sorry, I'll shut up."

"No, it's...fine." He looked over John. So much had changed, yet John still praised him like he used to almost eighteen years ago.

"Why, do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked drawling his attention.

"Yes, where is it? She must have a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is." Sherlock asked turning a circle.

"She was writing Rachel?" Sherlock turned to the other man. He huffed exasperated.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German- of course she was writing Rachel, there's no other word it can be. Why did she wait till she was dying to write it?"

Sherlock wondered aloud.

"How did you know she had a suitcase?" God he was so stupid sometime, but at least he could show off for John now.

"Tiny splash marks on her right heel and calf not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand, by that splash pattern. Smallish case going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious-could only be an overnight bag so we know she was staying one night. Where is it, what have you done with it?" He asked making another circle.

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade said perplexed. Sherlock's head shot up.

"Say that again." He ordered.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." The older man repeated. Sherlock hurried out of the room. He ran to the stair case.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase im this house?" Sherlock called down. John and Lestrade behind him both looking confused.

"Sir, there was no case." Lestrade shook his head.

"But they take the poison themself, swallow the pills. There are clears signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." Sherlock sneered hurrying down the spiraling

staircase.

"Right, thanks. And..?" Lestrade asked sarcastically leaned of the rail to see him. Sherlock's mind raced as he worked reasoning out his next course of action.

"It's a murder, all of them. I don't know how. But they're not suicides, they're serial killings." He grinned broadly. "We've got a serial killer. There's always something to look forward to." Sherlock smiled. Some of the people close by shot him dirty looks. 'Maybe I shouldn't have said that?' He thought briefly before brushing it off.

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade shouted down. Sherlock rolled his eye. He gestured to the room where the woman's body was.

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here. Forgot the case it

the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left it there." John suggested. Ah, John so smart. Sherlock brushed it off.

"No, look at her hair. She color-cordinates her lipstick and her 'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking..Oh...Oh!" He pause as it hit him. It

was so painfully simple.

"Sherlock? What is it, what?" Lestrade pressed.  
Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." He muttered.

"We can't just wait." Lestrade huffed.

"Oh, we're done waiting. Really look a her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson's friend and family were. Find Rachel."

"Of course, yeah- but what mistake?"

"Pink!" Sherlock shouted before running out of the door


	4. A Mysterious Stranger

**First off I want to say sorry for the long wait. I've had this typed up for a while, but I just haven't been able to upload it. This one will be he only one from John's POV. I wasn't going to do any, but I couldn't leave this scene out. Sorry it's a bit long. **

**Also just a heads up. In case there in any inconsistency John is 17, and Sherlock is 15 in the flashbacks. In the present John is 34 and Sherlock is 33, because it takes place in march Sherlock already had his birthday. They also last saw each other 18 years ago. **

**Disclaimer; I own nothing.**

* * *

John sighed limping outside. He couldn't believe the way Sherlock's 'colleagues' treated him. Sherlock was a genius, not to mention a person. He deserved to be treated as much. John was still surprised to have met his old friend. it had been the last thing he had expected when Mike had led him down those halls. He was worried that things would be awkward after...the last time they had seen each other, but it seemed fine. He looked around, but as he expected Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Even if he had waited for him John would have slowed Sherlock down with his leg. John knew that wouldn't sit well with his old friend.

"He's gone." John turned to the woman from earlier, Sally Donovan. He knew didn't like her already, but he wasn't one to be rude.

"Who, Sherlock?" He asked.

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that." She sneered.

"Trust me, I know. Is he coming back?" Donovan frowned a bit at the first part.

"Didn't look like it." John nodded.

"Right. Right...Yes. Sorry where I'm I?" She looked him over.

"Brixton."

"Do you know where I could get a cab? It's just er...well- my leg." He ran a hand over his bad leg. John wasn't sure he would ever get used to the limp. Her eyes seemed to soften a bit, but John hated that more. The pity.

"Er...try the main road." She point off down the street.

"Thanks." He nodded. John stared to limp off when her voice called him back.

"But you're not his friend. He doesn't _have_ friends. So who are you?"

"He has me, and I'm his friend." John snapped. Donovan's eyes widened a bit then she scowled again.

"Okay, a bit of advice then. Don't be his friend." She crossed her arms and continued on not picking up on the obvious 'back off' in John's tone.

"Why?" He asked.

"You know why he's here? He's not payed or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what..? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body, and he'll be the one that put it there." She said smugly John wanted to hit this woman so badly, but it was against his moral code.

"Why would he do that?" He humored her.

Because he's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored." Donovan said simply as Lestrade stepped out of the house behind them.

"Donovan!" He called her over. She looked back at her boss.

"Coming.' She called back. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." She warned and then was gone.

John turned walking down the street. He tried to hail a few cabs, but they didn't stop. He looked over at the phone ringing in the window of a restaurant John was starting to think he was going crazy. This was the second phone to ring as he walked by. A man walked over to answer the phone, but it stopped ringing the moment he neared. John shook it off and kept walking. He stopped and looked at the next phone ringing. This was just odd. He sighed. What could it hurt? John stepped into the telephone box picking up the phone to put it to his ear. It was probably the wrong number.

"Hello?"

"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?"John didn't recognize the voice.

"Who is this? Who's speaking?"

"Do you see the camera, Dr. Watson?" Oh, this was not good. He looked over at the building.

"Yes, I see it." He answered.

"Watch..." John watched as the camera turned away to face the other direction. "There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?" The voice continued.

"Mm-hm." It moved again.

"And finally on the top of the building to your right." He watched as the next camera turned away from him.

"How are you doing this?" John demanded. A black car with tented windows pulled up. John's stomach knotted this was not good at all.

"Get into the car, Dr. Watson. I would make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quiet clear to you." John couldn't see a way out of this. Whoever this was could move CCTV cameras and have ringing phones follow him, they he would have thought this through. John hung up the phone and limped to the car. He climbed in. A woman sat next to him her eyes glued to her phone. Her dark swept from her face. John looked over at her then back to the front.

"Hello." She looked at him almost startled at his greeting.

"Hi." She looked back at her phone.

"What's your name.?" He asked. She looked a bit amused this time.

"Er.. Anthea."

"Is that your real name?" She smirked shaking her head.

"No." John nodded.

"I'm John." He tried.

"Yes, I know."

"Any point in asking where I'm going?" She looked at him pointedly.

"None, at all...John."

"Okay." John sighed.

John stepped out of the car into a large warehouse. A man stood in the middle of the room. He looked out-of-place in a tailored three-piece suit. He gripped an umbrella in his hand like a cane leaning his weight against it slightly. The man seemed to exude power and danger. John slowly limped over to stood in front of him. He was tall, taller than Sherlock even. Something about this man seem oddly familiar to John. The man smirked at him.

"Have a seat, John." He motioned to the lone chair in front of him. John stood tall, back straight.

"You know, I got a phone. I mean, very clever and all that, but er... you could just phone me." John remarked.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place. Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down." Of course, this is about Sherlock, great. John was not about to sit down. This wasn't about his leg or the chair, this was about power. By sitting down John would be giving in. Not only that, but leaving this man as the only one standing was a psychological power-play. To make him feel weak.

"I don't want to sit down." John said firmly.

"You don't seem very afraid." He cocked his head.

"You don't seem very frightening." John countered. Which was a lie. This man could probably snap his fingers and he would be dead. Laid out on the cold cement a bullet in his head and a pool of blood at this mysterious man's feet. He laughed.

"Yes...The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" He said inspecting the tip of his umbrella. He looked up at John fixing him a cold look before he posed his next question. "What are your intentions towards Sherlock Holmes, now?" He scowled. John frowned he had heard this before. His head shot up.

"Mycroft." He smirked.

"Very good."

* * *

John watched as the rest of his team filed out of the locker room for Rugby practice. John saw a man walking up the field, but brushed him off. He was likely a parent or even a teacher. John really couldn't tell for sure at this distance.

"Alright, let get to work we have a big game coming up and we need to get to work if we want to win." John told his team. They all nodded enthusiastically some letting out cheers or whooping. John grinned.

"Excuse me, Mr. Watson?" John turned. It was the man he saw earlier. He was a tall bulky man in his twenty's. Defiantly not a teacher.

"Yes, can I help you?" John asked.

"Would you come with me please."

"I'm just starting our Rugby practice, but I can talk to you later." He said politely, but the other man frowned.

"Sorry, that won't do." He said lifting John over his shoulder. John cried out in shock. It wasn't everyday a man tossed him over his shoulder like the seventeen year old weighted nothing.

"Put me down!" John demanded. The man didn't respond just began walking off. He walked across the field to a black car that sat in the parking lot. He put John down.

"Get in." He ordered. John glared, but he knew it was stupid to argue. He climbed into the car expecting the worst. A man sat on a row of seats facing him. He was in his early twenty's with ginger hair combed down and a smug grin.

"John Watson, pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you." He looked John over.

"Who the hell are you, and what do you want?" John demanded narrowing his eyes.

"I just want to talk." He said simply.

"Can't you talk to me like a normal person? You didn't have to kidnap me!" The strange man just shrugged.

"I wanted to make my words stick. I understand you have taken an interest in Sherlock Holmes." He said inspecting his nails. John was dumbstruck. That what this was? He was kidnapped for Sherlock Holmes.

"I took up for him, yes. I don't think he even likes me. He never talked to me the rest of lunch just looked at me every few minutes. He seems like a decent bloke, and he doesn't deserve to be treated like that though." John told him thinking back on yesterday. The man looked over him.

"Trust me, he likes you. Quite a bit actually." He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "He sees you as so knight in shiny armor." John frowned. That was wrong. There was no way Sherlock liked him. John wasn't sure how he could face Sherlock knowing that he fancied him. John wasn't gay, and he didn't know if he could get past the awkwardness of knowing that. More importantly how did this man know this?

"How would you know?" John asked.

"You see I'm very close to my baby brother. He couldn't wait to call and tell me all about his little hero." He sneered.

"Brother!" John couldn't believe it. Sherlock's brother had kidnapped him. The man nodded.

"Mycroft Holmes." John just nodded. "So John, popular, smart, playboy. Tell me why would someone like you stand up for someone like my brother."

"Because, it was the right thing to do. My Dad is in the army, my mother died of cancer when I was ten, and my older sister drinks. I'm not just some popular airhead. I'm a good person. I don't think it's right to push people around." Mycroft looked him over and nodded seemingly happy with his answer.

"I'm warring you now. If you hurt my brother you'll regret it. He may be a genius, but he is very... innocent. I don't trust you honestly. Don't break his heart John, because you do have it." Mycroft narrowed him eyes. John swallowed nodding his head.

"Yes, sir. I never intended to hurt your brother." John told him Mycroft just smirked at the word sir.

"Very well. I hope I won't have to see you again, Mr. Watson. You can return to your rugby practice now." John nodded climbing out of the car. He quickly ran off down the field leaving behind a smirking Mycroft.

* * *

John watched Mycroft. He looked the same as twenty-two years ago just older...and bigger. He smirked at John turning his head to the side.

"I don't have any intentions, Mycroft. He is an old friend who I ran into again. Why don't you ask him yourself?" John bit back. This man was getting on his nerves. Mycroft sighed.

"My brother and I aren't as close as we used to be. You see he convinced himself I drove you away. He needed someone to blame that wasn't himself. I'm sure you can imagine what he thought when you disappeared after your last..meeting." He scowled. John looked down embarrassed thinking about the pool and shook his head.

"He told you about that?"

"He was so happy. His John liked him back." Mycroft sneered.

"I didn't plan on leaving. It wasn't because of what happened at the pool." John's phone buzzed in his pocket and he was glad for an excuse to look away from Mycroft. He pulled out his mobile.

'221B Come at once if convenient. SH'

"Hope I'm not distracting you."

"You're not distracting me at all." John shot back.

"If you move into..." He pulled out a notebook from his jacket pocket."Erm... 221B Baker Street. Will you attempt to continue your relationship with my brother?" The phone went off again.

'Come at once if inconvenient. SH'. John sighed, another text. "Could be dangerous. SH'

"I intend to continue our friendship. Not that it's your business." Mycroft frowned.

"Then welcome back to the battle field of London, Dr. Watson. You've seen it before though, haven't you? I hope you'll stick around this time." He turn walking off swinging an umbrella. Anthea walked up to him still on her phone.

"I'll take you home. Address?" John thought for a minute.

"Baker Street. 221B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first."

John climbed back in the car now with his army L9A1 Browning at his side. It felt nice to carry it again. He had missed the reassuring weight at his side. It was hard to believe that it was this morning that gun had looked so friendly. He looked at the woman.

"Listen your boss, Mycroft. Any chance you can not tell him this is where I went?"John asked when they pulled up to Baker street. She raised an eyebrow.

"Sure."

"You've already told him, haven't you?" He asked.

"Yeah." Anthea confirmed. John looked over at Anthea.

"Hey erm... do you get any free time?" She smirked.

"Oh, yeah lots bye..." She said sarcastically. John took the hint.

"Okay." He said quickly climbing from the car. Well so much for that.


	5. Still the Same

Sherlock heard the steps on the stairs followed by the door opening. Sherlock could easily hear the heavy limp in John's step. Sherlock would have to fix that for him. Sherlock struggled with the urge to open his eyes.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days." Sherlock huffed."Bad news for brain work."

"Good news for breathing." John countered.

"Oh...breathing! Breathing's boring." Sherlock groaned, but he was just happy for someone to converse with besides a skull.

"Is that..three patches?" Sherlock could hear the mixed anger and worry in his voice. That was John.

"It's a three-patch problem." Sherlock told him simply.

"Well...? You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important." John prompted. Sherlock finally opened his eyes looking at John.

"Oh- yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" John asked incredulous.

"Always a chance my number will be recognized. It's on my website."

"I saw that." Sherlock looked over at him.

"What did you think?" Sherlock cocked his head hopefully.

"It was very...you." Sherlock frowned not sure how to take that. John carried on before he could ask. "Mrs. Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear." Sherlock shrugged.

"I _was_ on the other side of London..." John pursed him lips.

"There was no hurry." John pulled out his phone handing it to Sherlock.

"Here...so what's this about- the case?" John guessed.

"Her case..." Sherlock corrected.

"HER case?" John shook his head not understanding.

"Her suitcase, yes obviously. The murder took her suitcase, first big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. So?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Sherlock said ignoring John's incredibly stupid question. Sherlock couldn't help the silent thrill at the word we'll. It was nice to have a we that didn't include his skull. "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

"You brought me here...to send a text." Uh, oh. John sounded upset.

"Text, yes. The number on my desk." Sherlock looked at John staring around out the window."What's wrong?" John stepped back his eyes lingering on the window before looking at Sherlock.

"Just met a friend of yours." Sherlock frowned his brow creasing.

"A friend?"

"An enemy." Sherlock relaxed.

"Oh. Which one?"

"Your brother..." John looked at him. Sherlock sat up quickly. That pompous twat! When would he learn to stay away?

"What happened? What did he say?" Sherlock demanded.

"He just threatened me... again." John frowned.

"Your not going to leave now are you?" Sherlock managed around the lump that was fast rising in his throat.

"No." He shook his head and Sherlock smiled a bit.

"Good." Sherlock laid back down on the couch.

"So what is he now exactly? I mean threatening me in a posh car is a far jump from a cleared out warehouse."

"The most dangerous man you'll meet and not my problem now. On my desk, the number!" Sherlock reminded.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was... hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?" John frowned at him lookiing confused

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number. Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you done it?"

"Yeah- hang on!" John raised his voice exasperated.

"These words exactly. 'What happened at Lauristion Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland street, please come.' "

"You blacked out?" John asked worried. It was like nothing had changed.

"What? No...No! Type and send it. Quickly. Have you sent it?"

"What's the address?"

"22 Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock jumped up walking to his chair. He reached down pulling the horribly pink case out and onto the table in on fluid movement.

"That's... That's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." John stood there staring at him.

"Yes, obviously. Oh, perhaps I should mention- I didn't kill her." He rolled his eyes.

"I never said you did."

"Why not? Given that text and the fact I have her case it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John frowned.

"Now and then yes." Sherlock shrugged like it didn't bother him. He didn't think John was fooled though.

"Ok..." John drawled out. "How did you get this?"

"By looking."

"Where?" John asked. Sherlock had forgot how nice it was for someone to actually care about how he figured thing out.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauristion Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could seen with this case without drawing attention- particularly a man, which is more likely. So obviously he'd be compelled to get rid of it. Wouldn't have taken him more that five minute to realize his mistake. I checked ever backstreet wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauristion Gardens, and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip." John stared at him.

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" He said amazed.

"It had to be pink, obviously." Sherlock shrugged secretly happy that he could still impress John after all these years.

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an idiot." John looked at him his face slightly hurt."No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is. Now, look to you see what's missing?" Sherlock asked changing the subject.

"From the case? How could I?" Ugg, he didn't even try. John really could be stupid sometimes, but Sherlock could put up with that. John did so much more with him. Not many people would be his friend. After all John put up with everything else he did.

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one. You just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home." John suggested. Sherlock shook his head.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home.

"Err... Why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is who has her phone _now_" Sherlock hinted.

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or?" Sherlock prompted.

"The murderer... you think the murderer has the phone."

"Maybe she...left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone." John shook his head back at the phone.

"Sorry, what are we doing- did I just text a murderer? What good will that do?"

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer... would panic." Sherlock exclaimed just as the phone began ringing. He slammed the top of the lid jumping up from his chair.

"Have you talked to the police?"

"Four people are dead there isn't time."

"So why are you talking to ME?" Why wouldn't I be talking to you?

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull."

"So I'm basically filling in for you skull?" John asked a bit testy.

"Relax you're doing fine. Well?" Sherlock asked walking over to the doctor.

"Well what?" John asked staring him down.

"Well- you could just sit there and... watch telly." Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"You want me to come with you?" John smiled a bit obviously happy that his old friend wanted his company.

"I like company when I go out, and I think better aloud." Sherlock said quickly. John rolled his eyes, but seemed to understand it was just a defense mechanism. "The skull just attract attention, so...problem?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan." Oh, God what did she say to John when he was gone? He knew he should have gone back for the other man, but by the time he had realized Sherlock had forgotten John it was too late.

"She said... you get off on this. You enjoy it." This was really not good, but then John's shrugged. "I already know that, but you shouldn't let them talk about you like that." Sherlock smiled.

"You haven't changed a bit have you?" John crossed his arm playfully.

"Not true. I have change." Sherlock raised a challenging eyebrow.

"I said 'Dangerous' and here you are, just like eighteen years ago." Sherlock replied smugly before turning and walking away.

"Dame it!" John cursed behind him before he followed.


	6. Angelo's

**So here is the next chapter. Oh right. I finally found a proper transcript of the show by the wonderful Ariane DeVere. . I'll be updating my other storied soon too...I hope. **

**Please Review! I'd love to hear your thoughts. **

**Disclaimer; I own nothing.**

* * *

Sherlock set a brisk pace down the street with John trailing slightly behind him. Sherlock slipped his hands into his pockets warming his chilled hands. He walked enjoying the cold London air against his face. It felt refreshing and made his thick coat all the more necessary and comfortable. John limped quickly to match Sherlock's long strides. He would have to fix that leg for him, he thought to himself discreetly slowing his pace. He knew John wouldn't want his pity, and Sherlock had no intention of pitying the man. There was no reason to.

"Where are we going?" John asked looking around.

"Northumberland Street a five-minute walk for here."

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?"

"No- I think he's brilliant enough." Sherlock grinned."I love the brilliant one. There all so desperate to get caught." John looked puzzled.

"Why?"

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the fragility of genius. John, it need an audience."

"Yeah." John smirked knowing that fact full well.

"This is his hunting ground. Right here in the hear of the city. Now that we know the victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them. Think! Who do we trust even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed everywhere they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?" Sherlock asked working his brain through the possibilities.

"I don't know. Who?" John frowned.

"I haven't the faintest." Sherlock shrugged. "Hungry?"

Sherlock walked into Angelo's John behind him. Billy held open the door for them as he past.

"Thank you Billy." John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was that he had said thank you, or that he knew the man who worked here. Sherlock sat down and nodded to the street out the window. "22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." Sherlock ordered slipping out of his coat.

"He's not just going to ring the doorbell. He'd need to be mad."

"He HAS killed four people." Sherlock reminded.

"Ok." Just then Angelo came stomping over to their table. He had a wide good natured smile on his face.

"Sherlock," The large man cried slapping a hand down on his shoulder. Sherlock found himself smiling despite himself.

"Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you," he paused looking at John." And your date. Not good.

"Do you want to eat?" He asked quickly not reacting to Angelo's words. He waited for John's response.

"I'm not his date." John corrected.

"This man got me off a murder charge." Angelo told John ignoring his words.

"This is Angelo. Three years ago I proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was elsewhere, housebreaking."

"He cleared my name." He said proudly.

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happen opposite?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing." He answered Sherlock before turning back to John. "But for this man I'd have gone to prison." What was this? Was he trying to be Sherlock's wing man or something. John was just an old friend...right? Either way he didn't need Angelo's help.

"You did go to prison." Sherlock reminded him.

"I'll get a candle for the table. More romantic." HE smiled walking off.

"I'm not his date!" John shouted after him.

"You may as well eat. It might have a long wait." Sherlock said changing the subject quickly. John nodded looking from where Angelo had vanished into the back room to him. He quickly returned placing a candle on the table and giving John a thumbs up.

"Thanks. So you're brother... I thought you two we're close?" John asked hesitant whether he still had the right to be told about Sherlock's life after being gone so long.

"We were... things changed. We just started fighting about everything." Sherlock shrugged. John nodded understanding, he had the same problem with sister.

"So what have you been up to? Beside solving crime and apparently not eating from the state of you." John smirked raising an eyebrow. Sherlock smiled and shook his head.

"Not much except for my work."

"Oh, come on friends? Who are people you like, people you don't like, girlfriend... boyfriend?" John asked watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye.

Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! He wasn't implying what Sherlock thought he was, was he? No, there was no way. Even if they had something back then it was years ago. Did he even still like John? Yes, Sherlock realized After all these years I still like him. This could be good then right?

"Dull." Sherlock shrugged looking back out the window away from John.

"So you don't have a girlfriend, then?" Sherlock shook his head.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." John just nodded.

"Mm. Oh, right. Do you have a...boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way." John added quickly. Sherlock looked back at him.

"I know it's fine." Angelo came back placing a plate in front of John.

"So you've got a boyfriend then?"

"No."

"Right. Okay. So you're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good."

Here it is, here is it! Wait, but what if it doesn't work out? John would leave again, then Sherlock wouldn't even have a friend. He was stuck living alone again. He couldn't do that. He was okay to live alone, but Mycroft of course disagreed. Especially after his last relapse a few months ago. Now he demanded his little brother get a flatmate or else. What if John did leave? Mycroft would place Sherlock with one of his cronies that would just get in his way. John would be gone, and Sherlock would be even more alone then he was before. He never thought he would enjoy company on case like he did, and John seemed more than willing to tag along. No, Sherlock couldn't lose that. Not now, not ever again.

"John, errm...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered,that ship sail a long time ago..." John rapidly shook his head quickly swallowing down his bite of food.

"No, I'm... not asking. That was just a phase Sherlock." That hurt. That really hurt. He was a phase? Sherlock guessed it was too much for John to still like him after all these years. Sherlock just nodded numbly.

"Good. Thank you."

John watched his friend. Even though he tried to hide it John caught a flash of hurt in Sherlock's eyes. It had been harsh and he hadn't meant it like that, but it was true. Sure John remembered how he had felt for Sherlock, but that was years ago. He didn't feel the same way now. He moved on. Maybe if he had done something about his feelings earlier it would be different. He could remember why he didn't though. What had stopped him from ever putting fantasies into action. Cynthia Freeman.

* * *

John walked down the hall with Sherlock next to him droning about the idiotic human race. Basically an average day. Well as average as any day with Sherlock Holmes as a friend can be. John tried to listen, but he kept worrying about his math test he forgot to study for. John pushed through a crowd to get to the class. They were right at the door when a small voice called out behind them.

"Sherlock?" John automatically turned too, used to having to save his friend from trouble. Cynthia Freeman smiled at them. John knew she had a crush on Sherlock. Everyone one seemed to know except Sherlock himself. He was an utter genius, but at the same time painfully oblivious. She glanced at John back to Sherlock. "Could I talk to you, only?"

"No." Sherlock replied immediately not that John had any intention of leaving Sherlock alone in the halls. They both knew the moment Sherlock was alone without John he was a target. If John was around people left Sherlock alone. John wasn't going to leave his friend to the sharks. She frowned then shrugged.

"Fine." With that she stood you on her toes placing a kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

Everyone seemed to pause and stare shocked. John could only stare with his jaw dropped. Sherlock's eye when wide as his face turned bright scarlet. He quickly turned scrambling over himself down the hall. As he ran the hall burst out with laughter. John clenched his fists quickly running down the hall after him friend. John found Sherlock sitting in the unused stairwell backed into a corner his knees clutched to his chest. He didn't look up as John walked over. John wordlessly placed a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock finally looked up to see him. The blush was just starting to fade from his cheeks.

That's when it hit John just how much this had shaken the other boy. That little bit of human contact and emotion had both scared and embarrassed his usually unreachable friend. Sherlock had never liked or shown any interest in anyone. Well, except John himself according to his brother. Sherlock may have liked him, but he just didn't know how to react to something like that kiss from Freeman. This was a heavy blow for John having just started to really like Sherlock... well maybe more than like. At first it had been extremely awkward to be around the boy knowing that he liked John. Sherlock seemed to be oblivious to John initial discomfort around him and stuck to him anyway. One thing John is sure of is that he's glad Sherlock did. After a while John realized how brilliant and amazing Sherlock really was. Sherlock had grown on John and now he could finally admit to himself he actually like Sherlock back. He, John Watson, lady's man and school playboy like his best _male_ friend. Not that any of that mattered after this. There was not way John would ever do anything knowing how Sherlock had panicked at just a kiss on the cheek.

"Are you okay?" John asked sitting down on the cold tiles ext to him leaning against the wall. Sherlock nodded.

"I'm fine... Wa'th it bad?" John looked over towards the end of the hall where people where hurrying to class. He looked back to Sherlock. He tall skinny nerdy younger boy. His short hair that made his cheek bones even sharper and the black braces the contrasted and stood out against his pale skin. John found it so adorable. Even down to the lisp that Sherlock hated so much (just not enough to stop him from talking).

"Pretty bad." John nodded. He knew it was no use to lie to him. He would have to experience the sneers and jokes when he went into the class room anyway. It was the only place John couldn't protect him. John hated the Sherlock was in a grade below him. If was so frustrating to see his friend and know that he'd had a particularly hard time in class that day.

"Great. They're never going to th'ut up about thi'th." John smirked at Sherlock's lisp. Sherlock rested his head on his knees. John leaned over nudging the other teens arm.

"Hey look, if anyone messes with you I'll punch them in the teeth." Sherlock smirked.

"You'd get detention." John just shrugged.

"Teacher like me though, and I did get away with punching that Moran arse."

"He gave you a black eye though. That'th not getting away with it." Sherlock shook his head, but he was smiling.

"Yeah, but I bloodied his nose." John defended. Sherlock laughed.

"Alright, alright. I had better go to cla'th. Ju'th get it over with." Sherlock shrugged getting up and walking off. John watched him walk off. He hated knowing that they both liked each other but there was nothing they could do about it. Maybe at some point Sherlock would be able to be in a real relationship with him.

"Wait up!" John called jumping up and racing after his best friend. He would wait for that day.


	7. Rooftop Chase

Sherlock looked back across the street all thoughts beside the chase left his mind as he saw the cab pull around and stop on the corner. Sherlock watched it for a second to see if it would continue on. It didn't.

"Look across the street. Taxi." He told John who twisted in his chair to see out the window at the back of the cab. "Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out." Sherlock could see a male figure in the back look around out the side window. Sherlock frowned. "Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. _Is_ it clever? Why is it clever?" Sherlock muttered to himself.

"That's him?" John asked straining to see.

"Don't stare." Sherlock ordered. John turned looking at him.

"You're staring."

"We can't both stare." Sherlock told him getting to his feet and grabbing his coat and quickly heading for the door. Sherlock could hear John getting up after him, and...no limp. Prefect. He stood out on the street as Sherlock shrugged into his coat not taking his eyes off the cab. He could see the outline of a man turn back looking at the restaurant Sherlock never looked away staring right at the figure. The man turn to the driver and the taxi pulled away from the curb. Sherlock hurriedly stepped out into the street after him. A car slammed on it breaks to the left of him and Sherlock quickly move launched himself over the bonnet as he just remembered too late he forgot to check traffic. The car's horn blared angrily. Sherlock could hear the distinct sound of John pressing his hand against the bonnet and vault over apologising as he goes.

"Sorry." John, the only man Sherlock know that apologies to a car that almost hit him. John ran to catch up with Sherlock who was a few yards ahead. "I've got the cab number."

"Good for you." Sherlock brought both hands up to his head blocking out the outside world to concentrate. He quickly called up a mental map of London and calculated the cab's route. "Right turn, one way, road works, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights." Sherlock lifted his head from his hands. Sherlock caught sight of a man unlocking a door on a nearby building and his mind instantly brought up an alternate route. Sherlock raced towards the man and grabbed him, shoving him out-of-the-way before charging into the building.

"Oy!" The man shouted after him. Sherlock could hear John's feet pounding behind him and discreetly looked back to see him raise an apologetic hand to the stranger.

"Sorry!" Twice. They had been running not even five minutes and John had said sorry twice. They raced up the stairs and out a spiral fire escape leading to the roof they're shoes clattered against the metal. Sherlock took the steps two at a time and John struggled to keep up with him scurrying up behind him.

"Come on, John!" Sherlock shouted over his shoulder.

Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, and ran to the edge and looked over the edge before he noticed a shorter metal spiral staircase leading down the side of the building to another door one floor lower. He hurried down the stairs and climbed the railing before leaping across the gap to the next building. John scrambled onto the railing and followed after his friend. It was funny to think that a few years ago Sherlock had been the one scrambling after John. He remembered all the times they had to run from the latest trouble they had caused and Sherlock would stumble or trip over his lanky limbs. John would always turn and pull him along. Sherlock smiled at the memory as he ran across to the other side of the roof leaps across to the next building. John raced after him, but then skidded to a halt. Sherlock looked back to catch John pecking over the side nervously.

"Come on, John. We're losing him!" Sherlock urged.

John backed up a few paces and seemed to brace himself leapt the gap. Dropping down onto a walkway along the side of the building, running on. They ran down another metal staircase, Sherlock ran to a ledge and drop down into the alleyway before running off again. Sherlock lead John down the alleyway. Sherlock turned the corner and raced down the last part of the alley just as the taxi drove past the end, heading to the left.

"AH, no!" Sherlock shouted. Without breaking stride Sherlock ran the last of the alley turning to the left. "This way." John turned left after the taxi automatically. "No, this way!" John skidded to a halt and turned back the other way.

"Sorry."

They both ran down the street. Sherlock headed down another alleyway and side street toward the planned interception point at Wardour Street and finally, at the precise point which he had predicted. Sherlock jumped out in front of the taxi as it pulled around. The car screeched to a halt and the bonnet crashed hard into Sherlock. Sherlock scrabbling at his left coat pocket ignoring the throbbing through his legs. He pulled out Lestrade's I.D. badge that he had taken earlier and flashes it at the driver as he ran to the right hand side of the cab.

"Police! Open her up!" Sherlock tugged open the rear door panting heavily and stared in at the passenger, who looks back at him anxiously. Instantly Sherlock straightened up in exasperation just as John ran up to him.

"No." Sherlock said exasperated. There was no way it was him. Sherlock had really thought this idea might have worked. Sherlock leant down to the man again running his eyes over him. "Teeth, tan- what Californian?" Sherlock looked at the luggage resting in the floor. "L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived." Sherlock straightened up grimacing as pain shot through his back. He'd need to get that checked out after the case was over. Two cars in one night that was a new record for him.

"How can you possible know that?" John asked.

"The luggage." Sherlock said pointing to the bags in the floor by the man's feet. The tag showing he had flow from LAX to LHR. "It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?" Sherlock asked. The man looked between the two men.

"Sorry- are you guys the police?"

"Yeah," Sherlock flashed his stole badge. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah." The Californian smiled at him. Sherlock paused for a minute. What was he suppose to say? He smiled at the stranger falsely.

"Welcome to London." He said walking off quickly. Sherlock stalked off a few yards behind the cab. He watched John say a few more words to the man before slamming the door and walking over to where Sherlock was standing.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically."

"Not the murder."

"Not the murder, no." Sherlock huffed exasperated.

"Wrong country, good alibi."

"As they go." Sherlock switched the ID badge into his other hand. John looked down at his hand.

"Hey, where-where did you get this? Here." John reached out toward Sherlock's hand, and for a minute Sherlock felt his heart leap. John grabbed the ID and Sherlock quickly let go pulling his hand back. God, what was he thinking this was ridiculous. Sherlock quickly pulled himself into the present.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat. " Sherlock shrugged. John nodded looking down at the card before he lifted his head giggling silently to himself. Sherlock looked at John. Oh, God he wasn't laughing at him was he? Why would he laugh? He wasn't laughing at Sherlock for being wrong was he? Anderson would.

"What?"

"Nothing, just: 'Welcome to London'." Sherlock chuckled. He should have known that John wouldn't laugh at him. He never did before, why would he start now? They both looked down the street where a police officer had stopped to see why the cab had stopped in the middle of the road. The man got out of the cab and pointed to John and Sherlock. Sherlock looked back to John.

"Got your breath back?"

"Ready when you are." They both took off quickly down the street back to Baker Street.


	8. It's a Drugs Bust

**Sorry for the wait on the update. I've been busy, and haven't had the time to post the next date. Un beta'd so if you see a mistake please tell me so I can fix. Please review.**

**Disclaimer; I own nothing. **

* * *

Sherlock and John walked into the hallway of 221B Baker Street both breathing heavily. John hung up his jacket and Sherlock draped his coat over the bottom of the banisters. Sherlock loved this part so much. After the chase the high of the adrenaline that just makes your head spin. Thought Sherlock had to admit that having John made the chase all the better. Sherlock hadn't realized just how lonely he was till John showed him.

"That was ridiculous." John sighed and they both leaned against the wall to catch their breath. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan." John giggled adorable and Sherlock couldn't help but smile, and after a moment Sherlock started laughing along.

"That wasn't just me." John said and Sherlock giggled. "Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" John asked. Sherlock pulled himself back together and waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway." John frowned. He knew perfectly Sherlock wouldn't do something for the just of it.

"So what were we doing there?" Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Oh, just passing the time," He looked at John. "And proving a point."

"What point?" John asked looking puzzled.

"You." Sherlock turned shouting in the general direction of Mrs. Hudson's flat. "Mrs. Hudson Doctor Watson _will_ be taking the room upstairs."

"What?" John frowned his eyebrows creasing. Sherlock looked at the door. He should be here any minute.

"Could you get the door John?" John turned his head to the door just as there were three loud knocks. He turned back to Sherlock looking at his surprised. Sherlock smiled at his friend. John watched him for a minute then turned and walked back along the hall to the front door. Sherlock leaned his head back against the wall and let out a breath. His whole body still ached from both cars. After this case Sherlock fully intended to sit down with that new book on poison he had bought and a bottle of painkillers After a minute John walked back in. Just as the door closed behind Mrs. Hudson came hurrying out of her flat. Sherlock immediately knew something was wrong. The woman looked frantic and almost tearful.

"Sherlock what have you done?" She asked tearfully.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Upstairs." Sherlock quickly turned hurrying up the stairs with John behind him. Sherlock threw open the door to see Lestrade sitting back in his arm-chair. He sat back casually crossing his legs and resting his arms on the sides. Other police officers were rifling through his things searching the flat. Sherlock stormed over to the DI seething.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." Great, so now Lestrade decides to do something clever. Sherlock glanced at the officers.

"You can't just break into my flat!"

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't _break_ into your flat." Lestrade responded.

"What do you call this then?" Sherlock asked testily holding out his arms motioning around at the officers. Lestrade looked around.

"It's a drugs bust." He said innocently. Sherlock froze his back stiffening. He pursed his lips. Why? Why now of all times? This was the last thing he wanted John to find out about like this.

"Seriously?! _This_ guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" John chuckled dryly. Sherlock turned back walking over to him. Sherlock bite his lip nervously. He wanted to interrupt John, but what could he say?

"John..." Sherlock tried to warn, but John didn't seem to notice him.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." John told Lestrade.

"John you probably want to shut up _now_." John finally looked at him.

"Yeah, but come on..." Sherlock locked eyes with him and they just stared at each other for a minute. John's eyes flicked over Sherlock's face.

"No."

"What?"

"_You_?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock said angrily. He turned back to Lestrade.

"No, Sherlock I will not." Sherlock turned back to look at John who was staring him down. "It was Mathews wasn't it?" John asked angrily.

"John, do we really need to get into this now?" Sherlock huffed.

"Yes, Sherlock, we do. I told you to stay away from that boy. He was bad news!" John pursed his lips. Sherlock hadn't even thought of Brett Mathews in years. He had always eyed Sherlock not like that bloke Spencer had but still. After John had left Mathews seemed to show up every time Sherlock was at his lowest. Always pressing him, and eventually Sherlock had given in. He had been addicted ever since. It used to not be that bad. Mycroft never even noticed it for years then after college thing got worse. He was out of control and he just couldn't stop.

"You sound like my brother." Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, I was right wasn't I? You got addicted." Sherlock threw up a hand.

"Oh God, what do you care even!?" Sherlock shouted frustrated. He couldn't stand the way John was looking at him. It was like when he talked about his sister disappointed, upset, but worst of all disgusted.

"I'm your friend of course I care!" John shouted matching his volume. Sherlock felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He hadn't heard that word directed at him in twenty-two years. Sure he had thought it in him mind, but hearing it out loud was so...odd. John just stared at him for a minute. Sherlock suddenly became aware of the fact that everyone had stopped to watch the exchange. Sherlock quickly turned back to Lestrade ignoring the raised eyebrows and questioning glances from the other officers.

"I'm not your sniffer dog!" Lestrade glanced between Sherlock John before responding.

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." He nodded to the kitchen.

"What, An..." Sherlock turned and the sliding door of the kitchen open and Sherlock could see several more officers. Anderson turned and waved at him sarcastically. "Anderson, what are _you_ doing here on a drugs bust?" Sherlock asked angrily.

"Oh, I volunteered." He said venomously. Sherlock turned any biting his lip angrily. The first day he has John back and the world insists on going to hell.

"They _all_ did. They're not strictly speaking _on_ the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Lestrade broke in. Sherlock wanted to snort. Ha, keen? These officers? He was about to speak when Donovan walked in from the kitchen holding a small glass jar.

"Are these _human_ eyes?"

"Put those back!" Sherlock shouted pointing to the microwave.

"They were in the microwave!"

"It's an experiment."

"Keep looking guys." Lestrade commanded standing up and turning to Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down." Sherlock paced the sitting room angrily.

"This is childish!"

"Well, I'm _dealing_ with a child. Sherlock, this is _our_ case. I'm letting you in, but you do _not_ go off on your own. Clear?" Sherlock stopped glaring at the Detective Inspector even though he knew he it wouldn't work to intimidate him.

"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stops being pretend if they find anything." Lestrade spoke matter of factly.

"I am clean!" Sherlock shouted.

"Is your flat? All of it?" Sherlock hesitated for a fraction of a second. His flat...not completely... but they wouldn't be able to find that, would they?

"I don't even smoke." Sherlock said quickly buttoning his sleeve to show the nicotine patches on his arm.

"Neither do I" Lestrade said rolling up his sleeve to show a nicotine patch on his arm too. Sherlock rolled his eyes and both men pulled their sleeves down.

"So let's work together. We've found Rachel." Sherlock turned back to him the case taking his attention.

"Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." Sherlock frowned that wasn't right.

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind _that_. We found the case." Anderson cut in pointing to the pink case on the chair. "According to _someone_, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath." Sherlock looked over at him disparagingly.

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock turned back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. _I_ need to question her."

"She's dead."

"Excellent!" That made this that much easier. Sherlock was to caught up the to see the startled look on John's face. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There _has_ to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." John turned away grimacing, but Sherlock again took no notice. This didn't make any sense.

"No, that's ... that's not right. How ... Why would she do that? _Why?_"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?! Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now." Sherlock turned to Anderson exasperated. Why did someone so stupid always insist on speaking?

"She didn't _think_ about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt." Sherlock turned away and paced back and forth across the room.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he _makes them _take it. Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." John interjected. At least he was thinking. Sherlock walked over stopping in front of him.

"Yeah, but that was _ages_ ago. Why would she still be upset?" He asked. John just stared at him and Sherlock hesitated realising that everyone had stopped and fallen silent. Sherlock glanced around the room at the officers giving him horrified and dirty looks. He looked back to John awkwardly.

"Not good?" John glanced around before turning back to Sherlock.

"_Bit_ not good, yeah." Sherlock stepped closer looking at John intently.

"Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?"

" 'Please, God, let me live.' "

"Oh, use your imagination!" Sherlock said exasperated.

"I don't _have _to." Sherlock recognised the pained look on John face, and remembered. John didn't have to imagination. He was in the war. He had seen people murdered, and witnessed their final minutes. Sherlock blinked a few to time as realised his friend had changed. He may act the same, but he had seen things. That he would never be exactly the same again. The detective shifted him feet apologetically before continuing. John knew him well enough to pick up on his friend's body language.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, _really_ clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she _was_ clever." Sherlock began pacing again. " She's trying to _tell_ us something." Mrs. Hudson came to the door of the sitting room.

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Out of the corner of his eye he could see her look around the room.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" She directed her question to John.

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson." John said.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers." She responded anxiously.

"Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." Sherlock ordered not bothering to turning around.

"What? My _face_ is?!"

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back." Ha! Lestrade actually had him turn around. This day is starting to look up. Sherlock loved it when Lestrade humored him.

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Your _back_, now, please!"

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock muttered to himself. Oh, oh, oh, there it was. He could feel himself on the edge of _the_ thought.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson interrupted. Annnddd thought gone.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted furious. He could feel bad about that later, but now he had to be able to think before another person died. The older woman turned quickly going back down stairs. Sherlock turned back and _the_ thought suddenly hit him.

"Oh," Sherlock smiled in delight. "Ah! She was clever, clever, yes!" Sherlock walked across the room finally turning back to the others. "She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't _lose_ her phone, she never lost it. She _planted_ it on him." He began pacing again. "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

"But how?" Lestrade asked.

"Wha...? What do you mean, how?" Sherlock asked stopping and staring at him. The other man just shrugged. "Rachel!" He said looking at everyone triumphantly they just looked back at him blankly. "Don't you see? _Rachel!" _Sherlock laughed disbelieving at them. "Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must _ be so_ relaxing. Rachel is not a name." He finished seriously.

"Then what is it?" John asked matching his tone.

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address." John reached over reading off the label on the luggage.

"Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk." Sherlock sat down at the table in front of his laptop.

"Oh, I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled." Sherlock explained logging onto the mephone website and typing Jennifer Wilson's email into the user name bar. "So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address ...and all together now, the password is?" John came up behind him.

"Rachel."

"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Anderson interjected. Did he really need to just blurt out ever stupid though in his pathetic brain? Couldn't he just keep all that stupid to himself?

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it." Lestrade pointed out.

"We know he didn't."

"Come on, come on. Quickly!" Sherlock stared at the screen willing it to load.

"Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver ..." Mrs. Hudson called from the door again. Sherlock loved the woman to death, but he couldn't get things done with her hovering over him. He supposed this is how most people feel about mothers. You love them, but they bother you to no end. Often because she was right.

"Mrs Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" John sat down in Sherlock chair the clock on the screen spinning to indicate that it would be located in three minutes. Sherlock looked to Lestrade.

"We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last for ever."

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name." Lestrade reminded.

"It's a start!" Sherlock countered. He wouldn't even have the case if it weren't for Sherlock.

"Sherlock ... " John called out to him, but Sherlock couldn't hear him over his own thoughts.

"It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had."

"Sherlock ..." John repeated catching Sherlock attention this time. Sherlock hurried across the room leaning over John's shoulder to see the screen. HE took a moment to relish in the closeness that seemed do odd now.

"What is it? Quickly, where?"

"It's here. It's in 221B Baker Street." Sherlock straightened up. That couldn't be right. He knew it wasn't in the case so how would it have gotten here?

"How can it be here? _How_?"

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade suggested. Really did he even know me? Like I would really miss the woman's mobile.

"What, and I didn't notice it? _Me_? I didn't notice?"

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back." John reason.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim ... " Idiot he should listen John's right.

Sherlock tuned him out as he though back to the questions he had asked John earlier. 'Who do we trust, even if we don't know them?' Sherlock looked up and caught sight of the man at the top of the stairs behind Mrs. Hudson. 'Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?' Sir Jeffrey Patterson had missed his car. He would have taken a taxi. 'Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?' James Phillimore was walking back to his house in the rain. He wouldn't walk all the way back home in the rain, so taxi again. Beth Davenport was drunk, and one of her friends nicked her keys. She would need to take a cab home. The outside the restaurant. It wasn't the passenger it was the cabbie. Sherlock turned numbly as clues clicked in his head. Jennifer Wilson arrived at a London terminus, and must have taken a taxi. Sherlock turned his head still putting it all together. The cab driver on the stairs pulled a pink smartphone from his pocket. Jennifer Wilson's phone. A moment later Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket, and fished it out to the read the text that would define the outcome of the case.

'COME WITH ME' Sherlock should tell Lestrade right now. Get the man arrested, and maybe impress John. Sherlock turned his head to the to see the man with his face still shadowed walk calmly down the stairs. No, there had to be more. He wouldn't be here and walk into Sherlock's flat if there wasn't more.

"Sherlock, you okay?" John asked. Sherlock was only vaguely aware that John was talking still watching the murderer go.

"What? Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine."

"So, how can the phone be here?" John asked. Sherlock should tell him, right?

"Dunno."

"I'll try it again." John said getting up and pulling his mobile from his pocket.

"Good idea." Sherlock said moving to the door.

"Where are _you_ going?"

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long." Sherlock called over his shoulder and John frowned. If Sherlock had any sense he would turn around right now, and tell Lestrade what he knew. He would arrest this man and then Sherlock write this down as another case solved. It was just to bad that he didn't have any sense.

"You sure you're all right?" John, caring John. Let hope that my first day seeing him again isn't the last.

"I'm fine." Sherlock shouted hurrying down the stair grabbing his coat at the bottom of the stair and after the murder. How could this do wrong Sherlock thought to himself sarcastically.


	9. The Cabbie

**Well I'm nearing the end of A Study in Pink. I've already started working on The Blind Banker and will start posting that once this is done. If anyone has suggestions on titles for the second one I'd love to hear it. Please review, I love to hear your thoughts.**

**transcripts are of course from the wonderful Ariane DeVere.- **

**Disclaimer I own nothing.**

* * *

Sherlock stepped out the front, and shrugged on his coat. The cab was parked on the curb and the man was leaning against the side. Sherlock could finally see his face. He was an older man with gray hair and rounded wire rimmed glasses. Sherlock looked over him gathering all the information he could. You know what that say, know your enemy.

"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes."

"I didn't order a taxi." Sherlock narrowed his eye stepping off the steps and closing the door behind him.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one." He countered. Jeff Hope, Sherlock remembered. He had seen the name when he pulled the taxi over earlier today. Well, not really pulled over. It was more of stopped bodily.

"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street." Sherlock thought back. He had seen him in the front driving, but he hadn't thought anything of it. "It was _you_, not your passenger."

"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer." Sherlock took a few more steps forward. The street was surprisingly and thankfully empty that night. The detective glanced up at the flat where Lestrade and the other officers were hunting down the phone. The phone that was in this man's pocket.

"Is this a confession?"

"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."

"Why?" Sherlock frowned slightly. More, there had to be more.

"'Cause you're not gonna do that." Hope said the hint of a smirk playing at the side of his mouth.

"Am I not?"

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing." Hope leaned forward. "I will never tell you what I said." Sherlock stared at him. No, he would go tell Lestrade before it was too late and he got himself killed. Well...he should at least. After a minute Hope straightened walking around the front of the cab.

"No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result." Sherlock said. Hope stopped and turned back to him.

"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" He turned back continuing to the driver's side door. the man got into the car closing the door after him and preceded to ignore Sherlock. No, Sherlock wouldn't let him do this. He knew exactly what he was doing. It was not doing to work on a brilliant mind like Sherlock's. Sherlock bite his lip walking closer to the cab. He looked up at the windows of 221B possibly for the last time. He leaned down looking at Hope.

"If I _wanted_ to understand, what would I do?" So much for too brilliant of a mind.

"Let me take you for a ride." The murder said turning to looking at him.

"So you can kill me too?"

"I don't wanna kill you, Mr. 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer ... and then you're gonna kill yourself." Sherlock felt a chill crawl up his spine. Hope turned to the front again, and Sherlock stood up thinking the situation over. He wanted to know. He needed to know how this man was able to talk people into killing themselves. Picking up a pill putting it in the mouth and killing themself. Sherlock hadn't seen anything like this. He didn't know, and he need to. Sherlock could see Hope smirk as Sherlock opened to back door and climb in. Hope started up the engine and they drove off. Sherlock wondered if Lestrade had discovered his disappearance yet.

"How did you find me?" Sherlock asked as he watch the London scenery pass.

"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!" Was it wrong that he felt proud that someone had been on his website even if it was a murderer? Probably

"Who warned you about me?"

"Just someone out there who's noticed you."

"Who?" Sherlock pressed leaning forward. He looked at the side of Hope's neck and noted a picture of a young boy and girl on the dash of the car. "Who would notice _me_?" Not that he wasn't flattered that someone had noticed him, but he was a detective. He wasn't suppose to be noticed.

"You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes." Hope said meeting his eyes briefly in the rear view mirror.

"I'm really not." Just ask anyone who has ever met me.

"You've got yourself a fan." Sherlock sat back nonchalantly in his seat.

"Tell me more."

"That's all you're gonna know ... " Hope paused dramatically. "... in _this lifetime_."

The cab drove on finally stopping in front of two identical buildings side by side. The Roland-Kerr College, Sherlock recognised. Hope turned off the engine getting out and walking around to the passenger door. He looked in at Sherlock.

"Where are we?"

"You know every street in London. You know _exactly_ where we are." he was right Sherlock did, but how did he know that?

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?" What was the reason he chose this place? Why did he chose all those places?

"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out." A bit anti-climatic. Sherlock was almost hoping for some meaning behind it.

" And you just walk your victims in? How?" Hope raised a gun pointing it at Sherlock. The detective rolled his eyes and turned his head. Even the smart ones can be so incredibly boring. "Oh, dull."

" Don't worry. It gets better." Hope ushered.

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint." Sherlock reasoned. There was no way with four victims. At least one of them would have chosen the gun.

"I don't. It's much better than that." Hope said lowering the gun. What was he playing at? "Don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me." Hope walked away confidently, and Sherlock grimaced as he got out following after him just as the man predicted. Sherlock really hated this man.

Hope opened the a door peering in before holding it open for Sherlock. Sherlock looked at him closely before stepping into the room. Hope let go of the door letting it swing close after him. Hope walked to the switches flicking on the lights. They were in a large classroom with long fixed wooden benches and plastic chairs. A window showed into the window of the building parallel. Sherlock walked deeper into the room looking around.

"Well, what do you think?" The murderer asked. Sherlock shrugged a 'what'. "It's up to you. You're the one who's gonna die 'ere." Sherlock turned to him now.

"No, I'm not."

"That's what they all say. Shall we talk?" He said straight-faced gesturing to one of the benches. This guy was good. Play with the victims, but then what? Without waiting for a reply he pulled out a chair sitting down. Sherlock took a chair from the bench in front flipping it around and sitting down with a dramatic sigh.

"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not _that_ stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you." Or, at least that what Sherlock was hoping on, but he'd never been the faithful kind. If Lestrade didn't show up it was possible he could die here. Sherlock didn't like those odds. Sherlock liked Lestrade he was the smartest of the Yarders, but this was a bit out of his league.

"You call that a risk? Nah. _This_ is a risk" He reached into his cardigan pulling out a small glass bottle with a screw top. Sherlock could see a single large capsule inside, but the detective kept his a careful mask. He didn't get it, and that was not a welcome feeling for any Holmes. This didn't explain how he got them to take the poisonous pill.

"Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this." This time Hope reached into his right pocket pulling out an identical bottle with an identical pill and placed it next to the other. "You weren't expecting that, were yer? Ooh, you're going to love this." No, no he wasn't. Hope leaned forward on his bench.

"Love what?"

"Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it." The man said sitting back. Part of Sherlock just wanted him to get to it, but he needed to find out about this fan.

"My _fan_?" He prompted.

"You are brilliant. You _are_. A proper genius. "The Science of Deduction." Now that is _proper_ thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" Hope looked down angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just _think_?" He looked back up into the other man's eye. Sherlock stared him down a long time narrowing his eye before it hit him.

"Oh, _I_ see. So you're a proper genius _too_." He spoke his voice dripping with sarcasm that Hope seemed to ignore.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you _ever_ know." He held Sherlock's gaze for a few more seconds before looking back down.

"Okay, two bottles. Explain." It didn't seem he would get anything on his "fan".

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die."He explained pointedly.

"Both bottles are of course identical." This was clever, very clever.

"In every way."

"And you know which is which."

"Course _I_ know."

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if _you_ knew. You're the one who chooses." He was clever. Really clever.

"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?" Even if he got it right there was no way of him knowing if Hope would just shoot him anyway.

"I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine." Sherlock grinned. Okay, now he was really interested. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Sherlock looked down at the pills in the bottles studying them properly now.

"Didn't expect _that_, did you, Mr. 'olmes?" Hope asked playfully.

"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice." It did explain it. Why no one panicked and was shot or refused, because they had a choice.

"And now I'm givin' _you_ one." Sherlock looked up at him. "You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game." Hope said licking his lips. This wasn't good. Sherlock need to find a way out of this. Of course there was no sign of Lestrade.

"It's not a _game_. It's _chance_." There was no game about this, no trick, pure chance.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... _this_ ... is the move." Hope reached up pushing the left bottle toward him. The older man brought his hand back leaving the bottle there. He licked his lips again.

"Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one." Hope looked at the bottles briefly before looking at Sherlock again. "You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes? Ready to play?"

"Play _what_? It's a fifty-fifty chance."

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' _me_. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a _triple_-bluff?"

"Still just chance." Pity to see someone so smart rely on chance. He could be so well if he used reason instead. Still Sherlock had to admit this was pretty clever, and it had been interesting.

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance."

"Luck."

"It's genius. I know 'ow people think." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not this please. "I know 'ow people think _I_ think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead." Sherlock looked at him exasperated.

"Everyone's so stupid – even you." Sherlock's gaze sharpened on the man. "Or maybe God just loves me." Oh no, he'd gone too far. This a man thought too much of himself. He wasn't a genius, A god, he was a murderer. It was time someone cut him down to size.

"Either way, you're _wasted_ as a cabbie." Which was true. Maybe if he had a better job that fitted his intelligence he wouldn't have resorted to murder. He could have actually done something. either way time to cut him down.

"So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?" Sherlock brought his folded hands up under his chin. He gazed at Hope intently. The other man nodded to the bottles.

"Time to play." Sherlock unfolded his fingers adopting his almost payer position in front of his mouth.

"Oh, I _am_ playing. This is _my_ turn." Sherlock smirked. "There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you." Hope struggled not to fidget under Sherlock's gaze. " But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them." Hope looked away and Sherlock caught a hint of pain in his eyes, and Sherlock knew he was on the right trace. "Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it _still_ hurts. Ah, but there's more. " Sherlock extended his index finger. Hope looked up at the detective as he pointed at him.

"Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's _that_ about?" Hope seemed to pull himself back together letting his face show nothing. Sherlock eyes widened as it hit him. "Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Told me what?" Dying, he was dying.

"That you're a dead man walking."

"So are you." Hope countered.

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?" The murderer smiled.

"Aneurism. Right in 'ere." Hope lifted a hand pointed to the right side of his head. Sherlock smiled satisfied he had been right. "Any breath could be my last." Wait, there was something wrong with this. Sherlock frowned.

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can _'ave_ on an aneurism."

"No. No, there's something else." Sherlock said thoughtfully. "You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children." Hope turned away and sighed.

"Ohh." He turned back to Sherlock. "You _are_ good, ain't you?" Sherlock mentally cringed at the other man's grammar, but seeing as the situation he didn't comment.

"But how?"

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing."

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me." Hope leaned forward.

"I 'ave a sponsor."

"You have a what?" This didn't make any sense.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?" Sherlock frowned.

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" He responded instantly. They both stared at each other for a minute.

"You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that." The side of Sherlock's nose twitched in distaste. This was bigger that Sherlock had thought. This was more than a murderer, or a murderer and a sponsor. Also he was much more than "just a man", and he indented to show Hope this fact.

"What d'you mean, _more_ than a man? An organisation? What?"

"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter." Hope nodded to the bottles, and Sherlock knew he wasn't getting any more out of him. Sherlock looked down at the bottles studying each one. "Time to choose."

"What if I don't choose either? I _could_ just walk out of here." Hope sighed in a mixture of disappointment and exasperation as he lifted the pistol.

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head." For the first time Sherlock had a chance to see the gun in the light. He smiled calmly. "Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option."

"I'll have the gun, please."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. The gun." Sherlock said still smiling.

"You don't wanna phone a friend?" Sherlock smiled confidently.

"The gun." Hope's mouth tightened and slowly he squeezed the trigger a small flame coming from the end. Sherlock smiled smugly. "I know a real gun when I see one." Hope lifted the cigaret lighter and released the trigger putting the flame out.

"None of the others did."

"Clearly. Well, this has been _very_ interesting. I look forward to the court case." Sherlock stood walking to the door. Behind him Hope sat the lighter down turning his body to face Sherlock.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out ..." Sherlock stopped at the door half turning to the man. " ... which one's the good bottle?"

"Of course child's play."

"Well, which one, then?" Sherlock opened the door, but couldn't seem to make himself walk out. "Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" Sherlock closed the door.

"Come on. Play the game." Hope chuckled. Sherlock walked slowly back to the table and swepped up the bottle closest to Hope. he continued walking and Hope looked down at the remaining bottle regarding it with interest.

"Oh. Interesting." He hummed his voice giving nothing away. He picked up the other bottle as Sherlock looked down at the bottle in his own hands. Hope unscrewed the top tipping it into his hand. He held in up looking at it closely. "So what d'you think? Shall we?" He looked up at Sherlock.

"_Really_, what do you think? Can you beat me?" Hope stood facing Sherlock. "Are you clever enough to bet your life?" Of course he did... I mean- No, Of course Sherlock was a genius.

"I bet you get bored, don't you? I _know_ you do. A man like you ..." Yes, God yes. More than anything. Sherlock unscrewed the lid of the bottle. "... so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" He was right. Sherlock took out the small capsule holing it up to the light to examine it closer.

"Still the addict. But this ... _this_ is what you're really addicted to, innit?" Yes, all the drug in the world couldn't compare to this. This rush of danger and being right. That the only thing keeping you alive is if you your smarter than the other. "You'd do anything ... anything at all ... to stop being bored." Sherlock felt his fingers begin to tremble in both anticipation and fear. The detective slowly began moving to the pill toward his mouth as Hope mirrored his actions."You're not bored now, are you? Innit good?"

Sherlock brought the hopefully not poisonous pill to his lips. A gunshot rung out and a bullet tore through Hope hitting the door behind him. Sherlock jumped dropping the pill in surprise. He quickly pulled himself together. If Hope was shot that meant someone wanted him out of the way. It just might have to do with his "fan". Sherlock turned, sliding over the desk behind him and hurried to the window. He bent down to stare through the bullet hole in the glass. The window of the building opposite was open, but the room appeared empty. Sherlock straightened up as Hope coughed his breath heavy. Sherlock turned he quickly walked back over snatching the pill off the table as he went. The detective held the pill up in front of Hope's face who just stared at him in shock.

"Was I right?" Hope turned his head away in disbelief. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" Hope didn't reply and Sherlock angrily hurled the pill at his face. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."

"No." Hope said weakly.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." Hope shook his head Grimacing angrily. Sherlock lifted his foot placing it on the other man's shoulder on the wound. Hope gasped in pain. "A name. Now." Hope cried out in pain. Sherlock leaned his weight on the wound.

"The name!" Sherlock shouted a mania taking over his mind.

"_MORIARTY!"_ Hope screamed his eyes closed and Sherlock watched his head roll to the side. Sherlock stood back. He'd never heard that name before, and if this was a crime organisation run in London that was saying something. Sherlock mouthed the word Moriarty testing the feel on his lips.


	10. Case Closed

**Okay so here it is. This is the end of the a Study in Pink. I'll be posting one more bonus chapter to discuss somethings that are left out. I'll post the first chapter of the Blind Banker soon. And of course transcript from Ariane DeVere. . **

**Please review. I'm still looking for a title for Blind Banker, and would love to hear any suggestions.**

**Warning this is unbeta'd so if you see any mistakes please tell me and I'll be happy to fix it.**

**Disclaimer; I own nothing.**

* * *

Sherlock sat in the back of an ambulance He had tried to insist that he was fine, but the paramedic had refused to listen. Just then the same man came over placing the bright orange shock blanket that he had just taken off back over his shoulders. Sherlock sighed. He watched Lestrade make his way over the flashing police lights playing on his face.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me." Sherlock complained gesturing to the blanket.

"Yeah, it's for shock."

"I'm not _in_ shock." he protested

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Lestrade grinned and Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"So, the shooter. No sign?"

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but ..." Lestrade shrugged. "... got nothing to go on." Sherlock looked at his pointedly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." This time Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Okay, gimme."

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service ..." Sherlock turned his head catching sight of John standing behind the police tape. John just looked around his hands casually behind his back. " ... and nerves of steel ..." Oh, Sherlock trailed off as John looked

over at him innocently before looking away again. Oh, that's... John. Lestrade started to follow Sherlock gaze, and Sherlock quickly looked back to him.

"Actually, do you know what? Ignore me." Sherlock said before The DI could start to asked questions.

"Sorry?"

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking." Sherlock started to walk over to John.

"Where're you going?" Lestrade's voiced stopping Sherlock.

"I just need to talk about the-the rent."

"But I've still got questions for you."

"Oh, what _now_? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" Sherlock said irritated brandishing the sides of the blanket that was still wrapped aroung his shoulders.

"Sherlock!"

"_And_ I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less." Well a dead one, but still. Lestrade considered him thoughtfully.

"Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go." Sherlock turned walking away missing the smile on Lestrade's face as he watched him go. Sherlock took the blanket from his shoulders as he walked bundling in up as he walked. Sherlock tossed the orange atrocity into the open window of the police car John was standing next to. he ducked under the police tape to stand next to John.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." Sherlock looked his friend over.

"Good shot." Sherlock whispered.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window." John said trying and utterly failing to look innocent.

"Well, _you'd_ know." John looked up at him trying to not let his face give anything away. He failed...again. "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John cleared his throat looking around nervously.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course I'm all right." John said his head snapping back to Sherlock.

"Well, you _have_ just killed a man."

"Yes, I..." Sherlock watched him closely. He didn't know how John would take it. "That's true, innit?" John smiled. Sherlock watched his friend. What was going to happen? This was the first time John had probably fired a gun since being in active service. Sherlock knew knew John, but he didn't know the soldier part of him. What if he changed?

"But he wasn't a very _nice_ man." Sherlock nodded. No, this was his John. John had always been a soldier. It was just that no one had noticed under warm smile and blonde hair.

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?" Sherlock agreed.

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." Sherlock chuckled then turned starting to lead them both away.

"That's true. He _was_ a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" John giggled and Sherlock smiled.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!" John said still giggling.

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

"Keep your voice down!" John hissed as Sergeant Donovan walked past them. "Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think." John said to Donovan.

"Sorry." Donovan just rolled her eyes walking off. John cleared his throat as they walked off.

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" John asked. Ah, so he had seen that. Sherlock turned back to him.

"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up." Actually John's appearance had been the last thing on Sherlock's mind at the time. If anything he thought it would be Lestrade.

"No you didn't. It's how you get your kicks. You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock smiled delighted. He forgot just how much John understood him. "Dinner?"

"Starving." They both started walking again. "End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." As Sherlock spoke a black sedan pulled up behind them and Mycroft stepped out.

"Sherlock, your brother." John sighed, and Sherlock looked up. The detective walked over to his brother staring at his angrily. John glanced around checking where the police where. Last thing they need was them to overhear the brothers' childish fight.

"So, another case cracked. How very public-spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" Mycroft said pleasantly.

"What are you doing here?"

"As ever, I'm concerned about you."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'." Sherlock spat venomously.

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock responded sarcastically.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy." Oh, he had to be kidding.

"_I_ upset her? Me?" Mycroft glared at him. "It wasn't _me_ that upset her, Mycroft."

"Would you two come on. You sound like three-year old fighting over who was mother's favorite." John shook his head disbelieving at the two.

"It was me." Sherlock grumbled under his breath and John sent him an exasperated look. "Putting on weight again?" Sherlock teased.

"Losing it, in fact." Mycroft countered wrinkling his nose in distaste at his little brother.

"You two are brothers, come on." John reasoned.

"And?" Sherlock muttered, and John shot him a glare. "He's evil."

"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He _is_ the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." the older brother just sighed.

"Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." Sherlock sneered and walked off. He glanced back to see John talking to Mycroft, but missed what they said. John turned to Mycroft PA... Anthea... this month, right? Her eyes were fixed on her blackberry as usual.

"Hello again." Sherlock was able to make out.

"Hello." Anthea said looking up and smiling at him brightly. He doubted that she even remembered meeting John earlier.

"Yes, we-we met earlier on this evening." She studied him for a minute then reacted like she remembered him. She didn't, obviously.

"Oh!"

"Okay, good night." John said admitting defeat. Sherlock couldn't help but crack a smile. John, still the flirt. Sherlock turned around walking again.

"Good night, Doctor Watson." He could hear his brother call. John caught up to him walking next to him.

"So, dim sum."

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies."

"No, you can't." John smirked.

"Almost can. You did get shot, though."

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There _was_ an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"Shoulder! I thought so."

"No you didn't."

"The left one."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

"Yes you do." John laughed. He looked at Sherlock how was grinning broadly. "What are you so happy about?"

"Moriarty."

"What's Moriarty?"

"I've absolutely _no_ idea." All the more to look forward to.


	11. I Know A Nice Chinese (Epilogue)

**So this is it the last chapter. I'll be posting the second story soon, so please check it out. I still don't have a title for it, and I'm open for suggestions. Please Review.**

**disclaimer; I own nothing.**

* * *

Sherlock dug into his chicken and fried rice he ordered. He'd hardly eaten anything all day except for a small breakfast. The two sat in the back of an out-of-the-way chinese. The place had tacky bright-colored chinese themed decoration to make the place seem more authentic. Sherlock thought it just seemed silly, but the food was good. John smirked at him across the table.

"What?" Sherlock frowned.

"Nothing, It's just weird seeing you now all grow up. I still think of you as the tall, lanky kid with the short hair, braces, and a lisp." John smiled.

"You had to remind me." Sherlock groaned.

* * *

Sherlock stomped over to the table where John was sitting with his latest girlfriend. He sat down heavily on the bench next to John, and the two both turned looking at him.

"I'm going to put poison in Power'th food, and watch him die." Without another word the girl got up hurrying off. John just sighed turning to his friend.

"You didn't need to scare her off. What did Powers do this time?"

"My oral report in cla'th. He kept mocking me and making fun of my li'thp." Sherlock half growled and John chuckled. Sherlock sent his friend a death glare.

"Oh, come on it's not that bad. Plus I think your lisp's cute." Sherlock's head snapped up so fast that he heard something pop in his neck. John seemed to pause for a minute before he looked at Sherlock and shrugged. "And I'm sure you'll find a girl who thinks the same." John said hurriedly. Right, of course John didn't like him. That'd just be wishful thinking.

"Right, I'd better get to class." Sherlock said standing.

"Do you want me to walk with you?" John asked.

"No, I'll be fine." As long as I'm not thrown into a trash can before I get there, Sherlock thought to himself walking off.

* * *

John laughed and Sherlock smiled along with him. They both picked at their food in a comfortable silence. Indistinct murmurs from the few people still there filled the restaurant.

"Oh, right." John broke out setting down his fork and reaching into his pocket. "Here, I thought you might need these. By your lack of a reaction I'm starting to worry getting hit by cars in regular occurence for you." John tossed him a bottle and Sherlock caught it easily out of the air. Sherlock looked at the bottle of Advil in his hand.

"Sort of." Sherlock twisted off the top popping two in his mouth, and tried not to think about the last pill he had almost taken. As tough as Sherlock was he was still fairly shaken for the whole thing. You didn't walk away unmoved from a murderous taxi driver. Sherlock took a long drink of water to wash it down. He looked over at John who was watching him and cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're different." John sighed. "Sherlock you've always been...odd and a bit harsh, but back at the flat that was cold. When DI Lestrade said the daughter was stillborn you didn't even react. Worse you were happy. What honestly happened to make you so hard?" Sherlock didn't move just sat there staring down into his food. Finally Sherlock looked up at John was watching him, his brow creased.

"I grew up John. They were already died anyways so what does it matter. Caring is not an advantage." Sherlock said quoting what Mycroft would say to him when he had a bad day at school. John pursed his lips and sighed. They were silent for a minute, and Sherlock racked his brain for a way to change the subject.

"Here." John sat a fortune cookie on the table in front of Sherlock. He smirked realising what John was on about. He picked it up in his hand running through the statistics in his head. Something vague, but _meaningful_. "Hmm... something along the line of live life to the fullest." John motioned for him to go ahead and Sherlock cracked open the cookie pulling out the paper strip. "Love comes to those who are patient." Sherlock sighed in defeat and John started giggling. Sherlock just rolled his eyes at him.

"Very impressive Sherlock."

"I did say almost." John rolled his eyes.

"We should get back to the flat. You still need to meet DI Lestrade tomorrow."

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked. The only time John had talked to Lestrade was when Sherlock was there, and he knew that John didn't know about his meeting the DI tomorrow.

"He texted me." John shrugged.

"Since when does he have your number?" Sherlock asked sitting up straighter.

"I talked to him before you came out of the building. We exchange numbers so I could make sure you go in tomorrow." Sherlock wasn't all too comfortable with this whole situation. He just didn't like Lestrade and John getting this close this quick. He had no doubt the two men would get along, but they both were Sherlock's friend or at least close to it. It was odd having them together.

"So you're my superviser now?"

"Someone needs to be." John smirked.

"Fine," Sherlock huffed. "let's go then." They both got up John handed Sherlock his coat as they made their way out. Sherlock stopped by the front taking a few pounds from his wallet to pay.

"You don't need to pay for me, Sherlock." John said holding his wallet, but Sherlock just waved him off.

"It's the least I can do you did save my life after all."

"Well someone needs to keep you safe."

"An ex-army doctor with an illegal service weapon. I feel so safe." Sherlock smirked and John just rolled his eyes.

They stepped outside the London air pressing against them. The temperature had dropped and the weather was fairly cold for early March. The detective tugged his coat tighter around himself. John walked along beside him down the street toward the flat, and Sherlock wondered if this would be a recurring situation. John helping him solve cases. Sherlock never thought he could tolerate let alone enjoy having someone accompany him on a case. John knew just what to say to spark Sherlock's thought, and he knew when not to say anything. He was willing to listen to Sherlock and put up with him when no one else would. The doctor and detective solving crime on the street of London. Sounds like a bad TV show. Sherlock smiled to himself. Only time would tell, and right now all he cared about was getting home and finishing his experiment of the effect of nicotine poisoning in the blood.


End file.
